


In Song

by Transistance



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Gen, Kindness, Office, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Singing, Trans Female Character, Workplace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-05 01:16:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10294106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Transistance/pseuds/Transistance
Summary: Sometimes whipping the horse doesn't make it run faster.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this last year, if I remember correctly; needed a Will who has grown out of his uneccesary violence. Hopefuly this doesn't read out of character.
> 
> Male pronouns for trainee Grell, as she hadn't come out yet (as far as I can tell in the OVA); female pronouns for present-canon Grell.

Thomas Wallis was not a very interesting reap, but it was their job to observe him and so William had taken to it diligently. The boy's work hours were tedious and the late-night toil behind the desk even more so – watching a writer churn out page upon page of the same sticky prose, torn up as fast as it was written, was not exactly thrilling. Grell had long reached this conclusion already and had decided that observing another dull day wasn't worth his time, and had left William to watch Wallis alone.

Today in particular had been just as tedious as every one prior, and had left William if not quite exhausted, at least very bored. His limbs were sore from having sat in one position for far too long and now he rather wished to sleep. He intended to do so if Grell was already back in the dingy apartment that they'd been situated in; if he wasn't, William would have to wait up to ensure that he did return.

The walk back was a short one, and William reached the door of their rooms before stopping short at the sound drifting out from inside.

He had been almost certain that Grell was gay for some time, in the same way that he was almost certain that the sky was blue or the Earth wasn't flat. Nonetheless there existed within him the subtle urge to be sure – but he felt that it would be more than unwise to simply enquire as to Grell's sexuality. They had all been given an extensive if semi-ambiguous talking-to in the early training days about the differences between the world that they'd just left and the one that they would reside in for the next eternity, and from what William had understood of it the main message was _There's a disproportionately large concentration of homosexuals among these ranks, for obvious reasons, so if you're going to be a bigot you'd better do it very quietly and not in working hours_ \- but in spite of this there was still a rather solid structural homophobia within the society, especially among trainees. This made it feel very important not to be caught doing things that could socially be perceived as queer – like expressing an interest in cooking, cosmetics, or indeed...

Grell was _singing_.

This wouldn't have seemed odd had the song not been clearly designed for someone with the ability to hold notes an octave or two higher than Grell was capable of. It wasn't a tune that William recognised – nor indeed did it seem to have words, or was being vocalised in chords alone – but was fairly light. It sounded as though Grell was singing it out of absent-mindedness rather than a desire to perform; periodically he dropped into humming or quieter areas that didn't quite fit, only to swing up into a more sonorous tone again.

William could hear no movement, and wondered what Grell had to be doing to forget himself so. It wasn't as though there was anything particularly engaging in their flat to do. Perhaps he was simply reading, or even just sitting lost in thought. Considering his usual boisterousness this seemed almost ominous.

Ominous enough, in fact, that Wiliam failed to register the eventual footsteps behind the door – and so was entirely unprepared for the door to swing open and Grell to step out, half dressed, and freeze upon sight of him.

They stared at one another, Grell's lips still slightly parted. He looked terribly unkempt; his glasses sat half way down his nose, and his tie hung loose about either side of his upturned collar. He also looked as though he recognised that William had been eavesdropping, and his eyebrows began to draw together in a warning sign of the imminent outburst.

“...I wasn't aware that you could sing,” William managed – rather stupidly. Grell's already seething expression darkened further.

“Well I'd have to be a fucking moron to advertise the fact, wouldn't I? You said you wouldn't be back until later!” Something seemed to occur to him and he grabbed William's collar and pulled him bodily into the room before half throwing him against the wall, still clutching the front of the jacket. “If you tell anyone about this I swear you'll regret it more than anything you've ever-”

“Get off me.” William managed to brush Grell away, just, ignoring the empty threat. “Do you really think I am going to – what, recount every insignificant detail of this exam to the world the moment that we're through? Take a note of your every oddity and pass the book around like so much gossip?”

“I don't _know_ ,” Grell snarled. “That's the problem with you right now, Will, I don't know! You've done nothing cruel yet which inevitably means that you're _scheming_ , waiting for the right moment to knock me down after establishing a false security -”

“Grell, I don't care about you. This exam is our priority – there is no point in petty infighting because you're jumping at shadows that don't exist.” This statement, to William's acute relief, stopped the other trainee dead.

“...You needn't care to be cruel,” he murmured after a moment, voice unexpectedly low. “And you've plenty time to destroy me later, should you so feel, should the mood take you, for – little things like this!”

William did understand that Grell's insecurity was justifiable – there had always existed a pool of cruel rumours and jokes, never quite uttered loud enough that the man himself would hear them in passing but always often enough that there was a constant background murmur of sniggers and _“Is that him?”s_ that floated through the halls and gathered in corners like dirt. He could distinctly recall the nickname _Slutcliff_ 's use more than once, right up until the mastermind behind that tagline was found unconscious in his room with half of his teeth dotted around him like some morbid artist's interpretation of a rice scattering. The teeth grew back, of course, and he never did confess who had managed to hurt him, but the nicknames around Grell had died back dramatically after the incident.

It was all very annoying. “Well, it's done now, Grell – you can't exactly make me un-hear that. Honestly, I don't understand why you're getting so worked up about it. Nobody will care that you're musically inclined.”

“You'd be surprised,” Grell muttered. “It's another oddity, another flaw-” His agitation was growing again, and he waved one ungloved hand in a sharp but indeterminate gesture between them; a brief flash of scarlet. It was gone before William's brain had quite caught up with his eyes.

“-Did you hurt yourself?”

Grell's eyes went wide, and his rant cut out immediately. “No! No, I didn't. It's none of your concern!” He tried in vain to hide his hands from sight, cramming them into his pockets and stepping backward as quickly as he'd advanced. “It's nothing. You're seeing things. Leave me alone.”

“I am not – give me your hand.” Grell retreated further, shaking his head, and William found his patience quite suddenly dry. “Grell, give me your hand or Lord help me I shall-”

“No, don't touch me – get _back_ \- _Will_!” The man screeched as William caught his wrist, curling his fingers in on themselves in a protective fist. “Stop! _Stop it_!”

It wasn't a fair fight at all. Without use of his hands Grell was, although nowhere near helpless, certainly less versatile than William – and it wasn't long before their positions were entirely reversed. Grell struggled viciously against being held against the wall, teeth bared, but failed miserably to prevent William from shaking his fist loose.

It wasn't blood – Grell hadn't been hurt. The sheer relief that he didn't have an exam partner who practiced self harm was enough to make William drop his guard, and Grell tore himself free.

His eyes were wide and scared behind his glasses, and he shook his head again violently before saying, “It's nothing. It's nothing, Will, dear man, I was just – messing around, it doesn't mean anything, it's just – nothing.”

Red painted nails, the colour careful and in line in spite of how out of place it should have seemed on a man's hands. Grell fidgeted, and then darted to snatch up his gloves and pull them on. It was horrible to see him suddenly so flighty; if he became distressed during the reaping itself they would never pass. It actually took a moment to recognise what had upset Grell so much.

Red _painted_ nails. A whore's art on a reaper's hands; an open, immense portent of unsettled normality. Grell stared like a stunned animal, loose thought thrown out by the acute horror that seemed to have taken hold of him, and after a moment he shook his head vaguely and took a step backward. “Will...”

“Don't.” How was he supposed to react to this? Anger, perhaps – revulsion? Grell's fear made sudden sense now, but for all its oddness the paint failed to install any further surprise in William whatsoever. “Look, I don't- I don't care. I don't know if this is some... homosexual thing, or you could find nothing better to waste your time on, but I don't care. It makes no difference to me.”

“I... None at all?” Grell's eyebrows had drawn together again, more mystified than anything else now. He didn't move immediately when William let go of him; merely tipped his head and stared some more, pinching his lip between his teeth. “You really don't care?”

William rolled his eyes. “I really don't care.” It seemed a shallow reassurance, but a half smile returned to Grell's face after a moment. It was followed by a considering hum, and then a small snatch of laughter.

“Will, darling, you really _are_ the dullest man I have ever met.”

* * *

Management is not very interesting work, but it is William's job to ensure that everybody is organised and he does it well. The hours drag and the overtime makes him wish he were even more dead but he perseveres, and so does everyone else.

He has just finished briefing the month's new trainees, following the words of a lecture written a long time ago by someone else's pen. As per usual they're a hodge-podge mixture of sullen and scared, but the news that there would be no imminent reckoning – no direct damning for their suicides at all – seemed to mollify them, as it always does. _This is penance, not a second chance; you must work. But so long as you are kind to others they will be kind to you._ That's subtext, of course, but they usually figure it out sooner or later. Kindness isn't necessary for a functioning workplace – but for maximum efficiency among a group of people of whom all are inherently self-destructive? It's imperative. And whilst William can speak for no-one else, he's gained enough hindsight to recognise now that his existence would have been far easier in the past had he heeded that ideal.

The hallway isn't long, and he has walked it often enough that he barely registers the rooms he passes. Voices drift from some, low murmurs of conversation carrying through and betraying the occupants' habits of not-quite maximum productivity. Once upon a time he would have told them off for this, doled out a befittingly minor but irritating punishment – a knee jerk reaction to slacking which failed to ever solve anything. These days he leaves them be, and they hand their work in on time anyway.

As he passes Grell's door William pauses, just for a moment, caught off-guard by her voice. It's raised high in song, lilting back and forth in a half-familiar tune that he can't quite place. She sings quite often these days, lifting the air of the office into something almost cheery when the mood takes her. He hasn't the heart to tell her off these days; instead he loiters by the door, and as though through intuition alone it's less than a minute before Grell appears, clutching a stack of papers. There's a pen behind her ear. It's almost endearing.

She gives a little _oh!_ that isn't particularly shocked, and grins wickedly. “Why, darling, you could give a lady a heart attack like that! What are you doing hanging around here? Not waiting for _moi_ , surely?”

“Surely.” Grell is happier these days – it isn't rare to hear her humming to herself as she floats around the office, and her signature smile has softened somewhat with the years. It might be the new policies on gender equality, or that people have actually started getting reprimanded for hurting her for her dress sense, but whatever the basis it is good to see the bitterness in her waning. “Have you completed the expenses forms?” he asks, and is unsurprised when she nods, flourishing a sheaf of them. 

“I was on the brink of bringing them to you myself – how kind to save me the journey.” The expression playing around her painted face comes close to contentment, half smirk easing into a full, grateful grin as he accepts her work with a nod of thanks. He doesn't push her away when she steps out of her office and continues up the corridor with him, near enough that he can smell the drifting cloud of her perfume; near enough that her hand brushes his arm once or twice, without intent. They part ways at the break room; Grell blows him a kiss before she disappears and William rolls his eyes, aware that she'll take the gesture well.

To consider her a friend – after decades of her being a pest, a nuisance, a liability – should beggar belief. Certainly had someone told him that this could be the case in the past he would have disbelieved them, perhaps even laughed; but maturity has granted him understanding, far more useful than temperance. Contempt kills productivity, and after his previous cruelties it takes the barest minimum of kindness for his office to feel very well done by indeed.

And, really – even for him, it turns out kindness isn't impossible to give after all.


End file.
